ALMOST DONE WITH THE FIRST PUSH....OF THE BIG PUSH

If any of my two readers are still alive after trying to read the longest post of this epic (one hasn't even gotten out of the snow pics yet), I have good news. This post will be short and sweet. Okay, shortER and sweetER. It is also a sign that I'm not cracking yet. Don't worry, that'll come later in the year. But I survived last year's usury, debt (so far), doubts, and double-digit minus-temps.

And if you read the last post you know that I AM MOVING AHEAD. And that at full steam. The last post was very long, but everything you saw that was NOT snow took place in the last two weeks of April and the first two weeks of May, and I'm not letting up one bit on the gas.

Every day I get home and go into the yard to do the minimal of what is needed to keep the property from looking unkempt; but only after I go into the attic and put my series of four fans to work. Two have been at it all day, each in a north or south window, one bringing in air, one taking it out. I then turn on my two most powerful floor fans to aid in taking out what built up during the day, usually pointed to the peak of the roof where the heat molecules like to gather, muttering, figuring new ways to kill me. This is, of course, unnecessary, as the old ways they've used since I was in Texas still work perty well.

But SO DO I!

I left you with one half of the East kneewall built, and I will continue in this vein, but don't worry, I won't riterate the technical aspects. Just the broken bones, bloody stumps, and monsterous nervous breakdowns that follow.

But first, it's PLAGUE TIME!!!

Every year I have had to deal with different plagues, usually animal in origin.

I'd list them chronologically, but it all seems to meld together these days.

Flies, squirrels in the feeders, and moles are always around. No plague there.

But. Fisher cats and skunks the first year. Blackflies the second year (clouds of tiny gnats that bite you as you choke on them, their bites swelling into huge itching mounds that itch and ooze for weeks; think of clouds of flying chiggers), along with ARMIES of mice. The mice are a seasonal constant, but were really bad in 2015. 2016 saw the plague of the Worst Sort; yellowjackets and white-faced hornets. Go back into the archives if you've forgotten; I haven't. I am deathly allergic to both and keep three epi-pens within reach at all times. Last year it was fleas (FLEAS! I haven't had fleas in DECADES!) and mosquitoes. I had a hundred mosquitoes in the house every morning, and nearly wore out my favorite $4.00 tennis-racket-type electrocutor each A.M. I smeared the sheers with their guts when they wouldn't fly into the electro-grid. The house smelled of burnt mosquitoes all summer. I had swatters, I had deet on myself INSIDE. I hung bug zappers in the house, including one by the dog door, where I knew they were getting in.

Anyone wonder why I like the cold months? My editor knows. He refused to publish my Old House Doctor colulumn titled "Fucking Bugs and Why You Should be Happy to Kill Them" until I changed the title.

This year, the blackflies (along with everything else, due to the harsh winter in March and the first half of April), have been bad, but not overwhelming. Yes, I need to wash my kitchen sheers. The bloodstains are disconcerting. When the little gnats won't fly into the tennis racket, I merely smoosh the aginst the widow. There's always blood, showing that they were successful in biting either me or the dogs.

The dogs are their own plague, especially this year, as it rains constantly and they smell more than usual, which, even without rain, is quite prodigious.

But I have to thank the pups for the partial elimination of my first plague of the year.

I came home from work last week to find that SpecklePup, who always rushes inside through the dog door when I come through the gate, stood in the yard, apprehensive.

"Oh, Hell," I muttered. This is what she does when she knows she's done something bad, like eating Netflix DVDs (a favorite afternoon snack if she can get them) or a first edition Charles Dickens 1874. I don't HAVE one of those, but if I did, I'd find it in her shit later in the week, still wondering why she was reticent about coming into the house on Tuesday.

But upon entering my mudroom, my eyes went wide.

What good puppies I have! They must be worried that I'm not eating enough!

I'm sure it was Marley, the akita, that killed this full-grown mama groundhog. Several live under the floorboards of the 1860 barn, and I saw this very one snooping around the front yard the week before, heading for the bird feeder.

I'm sure it was one like it (or possibly this very specimen) that destroyed my garden last year, eating my newly-producing tomaters right down to the ground. Luckily I had not removed the suckers, so the fruiting nightshades produced later that summer. Later like AUGUST.

My only question is how the ten-pound rodent got into the fenced back yard? I had just repaired the ground-level electric fence earlier in the week. I'll have to check thr integrity of the fence when I weedeat this next weekend.

It was pregnant and had titties so big that I'm sure she was featured in JUGS; The Groundhog Edition.

Stop going "AWWWwwwww, poor thing."

They'r RODENTS. They have FLEAS (I did spray where she lay after I removed her to the pond, where she would be recycled into a hawk or coyote or shoggoth or something).

No babies from this momma.

However, later in the week, I found another, a young 'un the size of a squirrel, on my kitchen floor. That's how I know I have a plague. ONE groundhog in the house is interesting. TWO is one too many, and is a PLAGUE.

I petted Marley (who was reluctant to come in), telling her what a good dog she is.
She already knows.


Then there are the stinkbugs.
They always show up in spring, but this year they are doing it in HORDES. I had one in my Cape Cod the other night, and nearly swallowed it. I had to brush my teeth and gargle bleach. Yeccch.
Two nights back I had a barn swallow come it through the dog door; it flittled around the kitchen as the dogs jumped and yipped at it. I chased it down, covered it with a dishtowel and carefully took it outside, where it flew into the night.
I lubs my puppybirds.
Three minutes later it was back in the house, and this time I just grabbed the little boofer and after tossing it into the night, I slid the plywood piece into the dog door. I soon heard it bumping against it, trying to get back in.
I only wisht I had Tippi Hedren here; she knows how to handle such things after starring in "The Birds."

The only other plague this year so far has been the return of the ruby-throated hummingbirds, they are HARDLY a plague.

They do drink a lot, even more than me. That's a LOT.

Back ito the attic!!!



This, the west side othe attic, has been a dumping ground for my Art Boxes for five years. I used to live in a house that I decorated with macabre 'found-art' dioramas, and I packed the pieces carefully when I moved, fully intending on displaying them here.

But this house is authentic Colonial, and I like it to be as austerely decorated as I have it now. Sure, I have some Pirate memorabilia and a few mineral specimens as well as scattered strange art, but not CLUTTERED like before. Besides the contrast of architectural styles, I have no A/C, so dust is a constant challenge, what with the windows open and smelly dogs bringing in more dust.

I suppose I'll have to open a "STRANGEST THINGS IN THE WORLD" shop in the barn once I have that finished so I can unload some of that crap.

In the meantime, I moved the boxes behind the proposed kneewall and cut holes in the flooring to expose the girts. On these girts I attached raised 2x6 blocks upon which the flying beams would rest, and on theose beams, uprights would raise the rafters become more supportive as well as less sway-backed.
Yah, it's like in the last post.

It's amazing how much room I made once the old room beyond the chimney was dismantled.

Keep in mind that the beadboard (stacked to the left of the window) was not only not structural, but it was the sheathing of the only 'finished' feature of the attic. This room is also where SHE lives, and I had no idea how SHE would react if I removed not only the walls of the room, but the Granny Boots so carefully hung in the corner.

So I told her what I was going to do and removed the doorway to the left of the chimney, then the nailers, then the beadboard. I used the keeper for the door latch (the door had been removed before I got the house) and screwed it into the barge rafter at the end of the wall, the one that makes the gable end. On this old keeper I hung the granny boots. They can barely be seen to the left of the window.

So far, no visitations, noises, or complaints.

And the attic! It's opening up to reveal the possibilities of creating another room up there in the future. That is, if I want one, and right now, I don't. But it feels really good to open  the space  and support the roof the way it should have been years ago.



A CONTINENT of boxes and junk lays beyond the chimney to the right.



 The flying beams set on the girt blocks. I didn't need to span as wide a space as on the east side, where I had to span the kitchen with a single fifteen-foot beam, so I used 2x6 headers as well as a stretch of 4x4 over a seven and a half foot span. The els, made from 2x4, hold the beams upright on the girt blocks.

A little workbench; I am old and have lots of injuries that manifest themselves as screams from sitting down on the floor and getting up again. This table will hopefully lead to less screaming.

The remaining junk stashed behind the flying beam. The door to the right goes from the kitchen to the porch, and will not be put back into its original position again. I will find another place for it, as the attic heat will destroy it. No, the guitar case is empty. I would not subject my guitfiddles to the attic heat.

East beadboard with turn-of-the-century wallpaper, ready to be removed. I'll do it carefully and reuse it when I sheathe the new kneewalls.

The closet, showing some water stains. Nice workmanship on the door.

I have no idea why the closet door was painted. Nothing else was.

Samara Morgan, the granny boots, and a couple of Lovecraft-inspired Styrofoam gravestones from my old Halloween Party Days decorate the north gable end.

 

Memorial Day Weekend was progged to be rainy, cold, and cloudy, which made me happy to work ten hours a day up there until the kneewalls were finished. Actually, I only worked up there for three hours on Friday; I have to mow the lawn SOMETIME, and it had to be before the Saturday rain.. Beadboard walls, closet, and framing came down. Now you see them... oh, now you don't!

 

The eight-inch wide beadboard stacked against the chimney, rebuilt in the last thirty years. I'll clean it of wallpaper and use it to sheathe the walls later. The beadboard, not the chimney! For chrissakes...Some is a bit short, but I'll find a use for it. Note the hooks from inside the closet. I have better ones in my collection, but these are from here, so I'll clean them up with a wire wheel and repaint them for use around the house. And I DO hang things around here. It's a farm thing.

Also note the twelve-foot flying beam lurking behind the chimney; it wants to mount those blocks! Oh, I haven't installed the next set of blocks in this pic. But it smells the block below the beam on which it sits. I can see it wiggle in anticipation!!!

The taller beadboard leaning on the north gable wall, which, except for where I have to remove a few boards to install a set of blocks on the end girt, will remain beadboarded for now. I imagine the granny boots are looking wistfully at the removed boards; Granny Izbicki liked to sit up in this room and sew. The really great thing is that with every task up here, I can see this will become a very fine suite of two spaces; one for sleeping and another for hanging out. It'll take a few years, but I'll add a wood stove, insulation, install more beadboard, raise the ceilings (the crossbraces on the rafters are very old, as is the beadboard), and put in a few light tubes to add illumination. A couple of interior A/C units (or a mini-split system) will make it habitable year round. Then all of my nonexistent friends can come to stay over. No they won't.

Tallest beadboard. All will be denailed and stacked behind the kneewalls. The flying beam continues to wiggle; it can SMELL the new blocks, though they haven't yet been installed.

FINALLY! It took almost all of Sunday, but I got the last flying beam in. Not true; I also built the last garage door, weedeated (weedate?) the backyard, and went shopping for my ten-minute feast on Monday.The short run between the chimney girts is less than sixty inches, so I used 2x6 instead of 2x8. Even butted some end grain (oh my!) on one side. Screws and glue, my friends, screws and glue.

Completely exhausted. I thought installing the uprights would take a half a day, it took all of Monday. I straightened the roof to a large degree, though the third rafter down the line was already an inch and a half higher than the others. It shows on examination of the roof from outside as well, though I never noticed it until I stood out there to admire my work (whatever I did can't be seen, but it sure can be felt. Especially in my limbs). The roof is rechristened Tighty McTightface. Like the British research vessel Boaty McBoatface. Sort of. Let that be a lesson; never let the public name ANYTHING.

East rafter supports, with a very proud flying beam  in the background. And a VERY tired restoration tech. I've been at this for four weekends in a row and few cool days during the week as well. It had to be done before the heat sets in, though. And there is still one more thing to do; I have to put supports under two rafters on either side of the staircase, and before I jack them, I need to add a separate support for the rafter above the staircase. This will be dadoed into the rafters on either side and held there by the new supports.

But as far as this spring is concerned, this nightmare of a job is DONE! As is the removal of the barn wall!

Now I can finish out the woodwork and countertops in the kitchen and tackle the bathroom. All this before I jump up on the roof and die trying to strip it.

Ah, well, it's been a weird life.

Interesting bit of 1940s memorabilia found under the strips of linoleum in the closet. Colorfast stuff, them old papers. Prolly radioactive Federal Dye Number Thirteen.

 A happy, smiling wife in her slavery apron, proudly showing her achievement, a clean dish. Good for you, Mom! Now go scrub the floor, Dad needs to have a brace of martinis. But not before some (rather personal) bathtime with Junior. "Not again, Dad!" he squeals. By the look on Dad's face, you'd better not argue, kid.

Apparently naked kids and  enslaved women sold soap then. Hmmmmn. Still do!

Wartime news featuring that fun-loving monarch The Shah of Iran. He's quite the playboy at this age! Just wait until he comes of age with the western Powers supporting his tyranny! Oh, what fun he'll have with all those American Dollars!

Isn't this what Memorial Day is all about?

THESE are the people we're fighting for nowadays (apparently then, too!). Or, at least, for the corporations that own them.

And you. And me.

 Brooklyn Dodgers at work in Shibe Park / Connie Mack Stadium . Little did they know who was to become a legend there in a few years. They'd have freaked. And that they'd Go West, Young Man in twenty more would positively kill them..

Now HERE'S something useful! Something to keep podiatrists wealthy and women limping for decades!

Ugly shoes, as well.

Okay, that's enough of my negative political diatribe.

Next time:

I have no idea. After this last month, I need some sleep.

It will likely be Kitchen Woodwork and Room Painting. That's FUN stuff, and I'm ready for it.